


asking, not demanding

by theroseofthereach



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Choking, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Hair-pulling, Smoking, Swearing, age gap if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroseofthereach/pseuds/theroseofthereach
Summary: You and Peña get under one another’s skin, in the best and worst kind of ways. You don’t have to like each other to have an affair.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Original Female Character(s), Javier Peña/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	asking, not demanding

Javier Peña was an asshole. It was the very first thing you had heard about him when you had arrived in Colombia. It hasn’t stopped you from falling into bed with him, on occasion. Not that beds were always involved. 

Now that Stechner is the new station chief, he keeps you busy. You’re not often around Javier, and it gives the two of you just enough distance to indulge in whatever you want to call your twisted little escapades. A fling? An affair? You never thought you’d be that type of girl, but he has an undeniable knack for getting under your skin. 

Yet you’ve been sent to help out in Medellin for a few days, and being around Javier is driving you slowly insane. You’re all closely quartered at the Carlos Holguìn military school, working practically on top of one another. 

As such, it doesn’t exactly surprise you when Javier asks to have a word. It looks like it’s been days since he had anything more than a couple of hours of sleep, but there’s an agitation to him still. You’re not certain if it’s a word he wants, or something else entirely, when he pulls you into the empty conference room and closes the door behind you. 

Unsure of his intentions, you lean against the conference room table, and wait for him to speak. Though it’s getting darker, he makes no move to turn on the lights, leaving the room lit only by the dimming sunset. 

“I need some intel.” It’s not what you were expecting, and you find yourself folding your arms. Closing yourself off. Work then, and not play. Javi looks at you expectantly, and you find yourself shifting a little under his dark gaze. He’s saturnine in both senses, and in the dying light, his eyes look almost black. 

“So ask Messina to ask Stechner.” Your words come out a little more dismissively than you mean them to. He’s tired, and he’s moody by nature, but he doesn’t have the right to make demands on you. Not at the office, anyway.

You’ve tried hard to delineate exactly when and where you and Javi can explore whatever fucked-up thing it is you have going on. Apartments, hotels, bars, even side-alleys are fair game. Your place of work is not. No matter how good he looks in that blue shirt. He frowns at you, annoyed, and rests a hand on his hip. 

“It’s not an official request.” He admits. You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I need to know what kind of intel the CIA has on the Castaño brothers.” If he weren’t rubbing you up the wrong way, you might be inclined to try and comfort him, in one way or another. He’s so tense, he looks as though he might snap at any moment. But he’s not asking, and it’s pissing you off. 

“I’m not hearing a request in there, Javi.” You say, with a harshness that you instantly regret. The past week has been hard on everyone, Javi most of all. Yet you can’t resist the need to remind him that you don’t work for him; you don’t even work for the same agency. 

You don’t owe him shit, as Stechner would doubtless remind you. It annoys him more, and he takes an agitated step towards you. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he somehow tenses even further.

“What do you want, an engraved fucking invitation? You’re CIA, you need an excuse to break the rules?” He snaps. In a sense, he has a point; you doubt Stechner would care if you gave Javi the intel he wants. Yet the actual reason for the conversation is quickly falling away, both of you so adept at getting under one another’s skin. 

“An excuse? No. But would it kill you to say please?” It’s childish, and inane, and neither of you can help yourselves. Arguing is just a different kind of release, after all. 

“Good men are getting killed, and you’re concerned about my fucking manners?” He’s getting louder, and you can’t help but wonder if you have an audience. It wouldn’t be the first time; within a week of your arrival in Bogotá, the two of you had ended up screaming at one another so loudly that Murphy had cautiously tried to pull Javier out of the room in an attempt to get you both to stop. 

“That’s not the fucking point. If you want something, ask for it!” You find yourself shouting back. When you’re alone together, you rather enjoy how demanding he is. But this is work, not play, and he needs to be reminded of the boundaries. 

Without you quite realising it, he’s come closer to you still. From here, you can see the straining tendons in his neck, the way his hair has dampened with sweat at the temples, the scruff that he hasn’t gotten around to shaving yet. For one half-mad moment, you’re tempted to pull him in towards you. 

“You’re so fucking annoying.” He kicks the chair nearest to him, the heavy wood protesting loudly as it scrapes against the concrete floor. You’re both shouting, and half the base can probably hear you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“And you’re an unprofessional asshole! You’re mad because what, I won’t just hand over classified intel-”

“I asked for one goddamned favour, you spoiled little brat.” 

“You didn’t ask! God, you don’t listen, do you?” You’re inches apart from one another, practically toe to toe. Javi slams one hand on the table behind you, allowing him to loom very effectively over you. He’s bigger, and broader, and in any other situation, it might be intimidating. Right now, it’s making you want to open your legs for him. 

“You’re being such a damn child about this-” He snarls at you, only to stop mid-sentence, suddenly aware that you are no longer alone. Messina is standing in the doorway, looking distinctly unimpressed. 

“What are you doing, Agent Peña?” She’s calm, far calmer than the two of you. You had only been arguing, but it almost feels like she’s caught the two of you fucking. The pair of you are both breathing deeply, and the pent-up anger with nowhere left to escape festers within your core like a ruined climax. You don’t wait to hear Javi’s excuse. Instead, you slip out of the conference room, pointedly ignoring the look that Messina is giving you. 

There are few places to hide in the base, but you try your luck with the file room anyway. It’s a far cry from the vault of information back at the embassy in Bogotá, being barely more than a windowless closet. Still, you could do with some space while you wait for your heart to stop pounding. You need to finish that report on the Unión Patriótica, and you need to calm down. 

The fluorescent lights are almost blinding after the early-evening darkness of the conference room, and you can’t help but wince as you try to adjust. It’s sweltering inside, and badly organised, but it’s as close to privacy as you can get right now. 

Sighing, you start examining the spines of the folders in front of you, searching for the right one. With your back to the door, you don’t realise you’re no longer alone until he speaks. 

“You and I aren’t done.” You glance over your shoulder to see Javier looming large in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. He still looks mad at you, his frustration writ in the set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. You go back to the files in front of you, absentmindedly running the tip of your finger along the spines. 

“I think we are.” You say, with a derisive scoff. “You think just because Stechner isn’t here, you can come yell at me like that?” The door slams shut behind him. You keep your back resolutely to him, for no other reason than the fact that it will probably annoy him more. 

“If Stechner were here, would you still act like such a fucking brat?” He’s not yelling anymore, but the anger is still clear in his voice. You wonder what Messina said to him; she has a very low threshold for bullshit. Thank God for Stechner; he doesn’t particularly care what you do, as long as you bring him results. 

“If you want something from me, Peña, you can ask politely. Like everyone else does.” By necessity, you keep your tone calm and even; you don’t want a repeat performance. Stechner allows you a very long leash, but you don’t want Messina deciding to breathe down your neck for harassing one of her agents. 

You can practically feel the weight of Javi’s gaze on you, raking down your back. The decision to wear a pencil skirt to work today was suddenly seeming like sheer brilliance or absolute stupidity; you could rarely tell which was which where Javier Peña was involved. 

Years of training and two postings to actual warzones, yet you still jump when Javi grasps your hip. By focusing so tightly on keeping your back to him, and trying to keep your calm, you hadn’t noticed him crossing the floor until he was right behind you. His fingertips dig into your soft flesh, and part of you wants to whine and lean back into his grip. 

The other part of you remembers that you’re at work. It’s not even the embassy; it’s the headquarters of the Colombian National Police, for God’s sake. Anyone could walk in. 

“Javi-” You try, as you attempt to turn around and face him. His other hand comes up to your upper arm and holds you still, keeping you facing the shelves. Slowly, almost lazily, he shifts even closer to you. 

“I thought you liked me demanding.” His voice is deep and dark and dangerous, and when he presses his leg between yours, you let out the most pathetic little whimper. Behind you, his chest feels broad and solid as he crowds you closer to the bookshelf in front of you. 

“Not here.” You somehow manage, though still unable to stop your eyes fluttering shut when the hand on your hip slides down to grasp a handful of your ass. The room is sweltering, so intensely hot that it makes even the air in your lungs feel dry and arid. 

“No?” He asks, his nose bumping against your cheekbone as he presses a kiss to your jaw. He’s pushing you, and not for the first time. 

“Not at work. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m just another one of your whores.” The restraint is killing you. All you want to do is pull up your skirt, and let Javi do whatever he wants, let him take whatever he wants. He chuckles lowly, his breath disturbing your hair and making you shiver despite the warmth of the room. Though he hasn’t moved back to let you go, he drops his hand from the curve of your ass. 

Instead, he gathers your hair almost gently into one hand and pulls it out of the way, draping it over one shoulder. The hand that had been holding your arm slides higher, finding your neck and encouraging you to lean your head back into the dip in his shoulder between his arm and his chest. 

The heel of his hand presses against the base of your throat, and you can’t help the way your breathing hitches. He has you utterly pinned between the shelves and his body. Between his hands, and the leg he’s pressing between your own, you have nowhere to go. Caged in, you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage so hard that you briefly worry you might pass out. 

“Whores get paid.” He murmurs softly, pausing to nip at your earlobe. Without warning, he tightens the fist that’s tangled in your hair, and you hiss at the sharp pressure it puts on your scalp. “You’re just a slut.” 

“Yes, papi.” You breathe, aware of how he must be able to feel the vibrations of your vocal cords against his palm. “Just not here.” You’re so tense, so tightly wound, that you feel like you could shatter at any moment. There would be absolutely no explaining this if anybody walked in. His hands tighten teasingly for a moment, only to suddenly relax. 

You take several shuddering breaths as he unwinds your hair from his hand. The tension doesn’t die completely; you still feel it simmering somewhere beneath your skin. But you both have to behave, and that’s enough to kill the worst of it for now.

“I told Messina I was coming to apologise. Would you mind telling her that I did, if she asks?” It’s as close to asking nicely as he probably gets, and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. 

“I suppose. Since you asked so politely.” The soft kiss to your temple takes you by surprise. It’s so gentle and fleeting that you could convince yourself you’d imagined it. You find yourself coming back to the memory of it even after he leaves you alone in the file room, brushing your fingers against your forehead as though you can reawaken the memory with your touch. 

After Javier leaves you, he ducks outside for a much-needed cigarette or two. He also takes the time to stick his head into Messina’s office and promise that yes, he did apologise to that poor CIA girl, and that no, it won’t happen again boss. When he comes back in and sits at his desk, Murphy throws a folder at him. 

“She left this for you.” The blond says curtly, distracted by whatever report he has in his hands. He’s pleasantly surprised when he flips it open and finds copies of various reports on the Castaño brothers and the AUC. Clipped to the front cover is a folded note, and he recognises your handwriting easily. 

_Fuck you, Peña (¿Cógeme?)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! Find me on Tumblr at pascalispretty.
> 
> ¿Cógeme?- Fuck me/Take me?


End file.
